


The Less Dead

by CutToTheChase



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 1891, Canon-Typical Violence, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, NSFW, Pre-Canon, dutch before he lost his shit, medical horror/gore, now with smut, spoilers for character backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-10-30 04:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17822276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CutToTheChase/pseuds/CutToTheChase
Summary: In the year 1891 the Van der Linde gang was little more than a handful of outcasts. Emboldened by a series of successful bank robberies and itching to make a name for themselves in a world still holding tentatively on to the values of the old and the wild west.During this time Arthur and Dutch find themselves working on a heist in an old mining town, where strange happenings dredge up memories they’ve been trying their hardest to bury.





	1. The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> CW for this chapter:  
> -Canon typical violence  
> -Murder

The trees were tall and thick and stretched on for miles, hugging a road that was hardly a road. Deep in the middle-of-fuck nowhere, the Van der Linde gang had not encountered a single living soul since fleeing north from the small town of South Hampton 4 days earlier. 

Arthur rode a short distance behind the wagon, keeping eyes and ears open for any sign of law enforcement. He knew it though, no one was coming. The job had been near perfect, quiet, efficient, and without casualties. They were out of town before the law knew the heist had happened. The only incident being that one of the poor unfortunate victims had recognized Hosea, and commented on the irony of being robbed twice by the same man. Hosea would have also found it funny if it didn’t mean that the drawing on his wanted poster was about to be updated for something a hell of a lot more accurate than the shitty excuse of portrait the gang had seen nailed up around most of the southwest over the past few years. 

The scenery was fresh in the way any forest would seem after a few long years of nothing but sand, heat, and plucking cactus burrs out of your forearms. It was fitting, and with the exception of a nervous Hosea, everyone was bristling with energy, itching to spend the new wads of crisp dollar bills burning holes in their pockets. 

“This is it everyone!” Dutch stood up from his position as driver of the wagon, thrusting the reigns into Johns hands. Arthur though he better not stay standing for too long. “The American frontier! Vast untouched forests! Exotic wildlife! Domain of the beautiful and the unforgiving, we are at the mercy of our great mother nature, and our great mother nature alone!” Dutch was turned to address Arthur and Susan, who was sat in the back of their only supplies wagon. From the ground, trotting alongside, Copper barked up at him. “Glad to see someone is as excited as I am!” He grinned wide and relaxed, slapped John lightly, telling him to keep his eyes on the road. “We’re setting up camp around here for a few days. Gonna wait for the commotion we caused back in South Hampton to die down a little. Make sure there ain’t anyone after our dear Mr. Matthews. Then we’ll move on, maybe try to find somewhere a little bit more permanent.” He sat back down abruptly taking the reigns from John just in time to steer them right onto the path they had been steadily veering off of. “But for now it’s best you all get used to trees, trees, and more trees! God how I’ve missed them.” 

“Well, where ever we set up I’m sure it will be a hell of a lot nicer than that pit you had us at back in Hampton.” Susan mumbled from the wagon. She and Dutch had long since grown tired of each other and settled into a mutually beneficial if equally uneasy sort of camaraderie. 

“I’m sure Hosea will find us somethin nice Miss Grimshaw.” Arthur reassured while Dutch pointedly ignored. 

“As long as its near water this time, can’t well do your damn laundry with nothing but dirt.” 

It was only a few more minutes of easy silence before Hosea came on back down the trail he had left up to scout a couple of hours ago. 

“Dutch.” He said, sounding a lot less light hearted than the general mood. “I found some land, good land, a little ways up, just outside of an old mining town, but I got some news. It ain’t empty.” Dutch leaned over to talk a little more closely with him. 

“What kind of ‘ain’t empty’ are we talking here.”

“O’Driscolls, two of em’, set up camp there, looking like a couple of scheming bastards to boot.”

“Shit.” Dutch stopped to think for a moment, seeming to weight the option of just moving on, but they had been going for days and were in desperate need of a stop, somewhere, anywhere. “Well, I guess we’ll be paying some of Colm’s boy a little visit.” It had been two years, and while Dutch claimed to be above killing for revenge, he clearly wasn’t above killing for land. “You take Arthur up with you, go clear them out.” 

“Arthur!” Hosea, shouted back to him.

“I got it!” Arthur rode up alongside him and they headed in the direction of the O’Driscoll camp. 

Hosea was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride up and Arthur was desperate to break the silence. 

“At least you’ll look handsome on your poster now.” He chuckled.

“Ha ha ha, very funny.” Hosea mocked.

“I mean did ya see those old ones? The nose? No wonder no one was comin’ after us, they were lookin’ for a hog.” Hosea cracked the smallest of smiles at this. 

“I just hope I don’t regret letting that man live...” The older man was getting more pensive, more cautious with the years. 

“S’all behind us now, we’re somewhere new, nobody is gonna be following us this far.” Hosea let out a sigh.

“It must be an odd day that you’re the one reassuring me for once.” 

“Times are changing, I ain’t a kid no more.” And he was right, John had long taken Arthur’s place as the baby of the group. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or dismayed by this. 

“We’ll if you’re right about one thing it’s that, you’ve grown up to be a fine man Arthur. Taking care of me in my old age.” Hosea gave him a cheeky grin. 

“Oh shut up you ain’t old.”

“I feel it.” Hosea dug his heels in and slowed his horse. “We’re coming up on the camp soon, it’s just through those trees over there. See the fire?” 

Arthur nodded. 

“Dismount here. You take one, I’ll take the other. We do this quietly, I want to see if I can get some information out of this guy.”

Arthur left Boadicea unhitched on the side of the road and followed Hosea into the brush headed toward the smell of smoke. 

The two O’Driscolls were sat near each other by the fire, complaining about something or other, being sent on a dud mission by Colm no doubt. 

Silent as could be Arthur stalked behind one of them and slid his hunting knife clean into the man’s throat. The other didn’t have much time to react before Hosea was holding him still with a knife of his own. 

“I want you to tell me quietly and calmly exactly what you are doing here, unless you want to end up like your buddy over there.” Hosea spoke into the man’s ear, gesturing to the fresh corpse at Arthur’s feet. 

“I-I-”

“Spill it.”

“Colm sent us, he-he wanted us to scout the town, said there been a bunch of rich folk in and out, thought there might be some money. I-I-” The man was starting to hyperventilate in Hosea’s grip.

“How do I know you’re not lying.”

“W-well I don’t think I got any much reason to lie right now do I?” He was shaking. “Mister I don’t know you, I don’t what kind of beef you got with Colm, I-I’m just here on a job I-” Hosea slid the knife into the man’s throat. It was always best to do it before they got you feeling too guilty for it. Besides, Arthur knew what would happen if they let him go. Sure he’d promise to tell no one, but a week from now, safe and warm and so far from the edge of a knife he’d go running straight to Colm, telling him about the pair of Van der Linde boys that jumped him in the woods not that long ago. 

It had to be done. 

Hosea wiped the blade of his knife off in the grass. 

“You take care of this Arthur.” He gestured to the bodies and the camp. “I'm gonna go get the others.” Hosea took back off in the direction of the wagon and Arthur got to the too familiar task of clean up. 

\---

“Ahhh you see boys, this is nice. I like this place. Water, shade, plenty of game. This will do just fine.” Dutch was standing proudly in the center of their new camp. “Say, Hosea, Arthur, what did you find out about those O’Driscolls set up here.”

“They said they were scouting the nearby town, something about a bunch of rich folk coming in and out. Far as I know though its just an old mining town, ain’t got much to offer.” Hosea answered.  
“Sounds suspicious...” John mumbled from his crouched over position at the fire. It was getting late and the flames were quickly becoming their main source of light. 

“I dunno, I mean, if Colm thought it was somethin maybe its worth checking out.” Arthur could already see it in Dutch’s eyes. Only a couple days off from their last heist and the gears were already turning, planning the next. He was not the kind of man to stay idle. Dutch without something to occupy himself was about as happy and harmless as a caged lion. 

“You’re right Arthur.” Dutch smiled at him. “You know what, you and I should go into town tomorrow, maybe put ourselves up in the inn for a while see what going on that’s got Colm so interested.” Arthur wasn’t to sure about this.

“Maybe you should take Hosea, you know I ain’t the investigatin’ type, Dutch.”

“Nonsense Arthur. We can split up. I’ll play the part of the rich business man, come to town to investigate what ever new prospects are about. And you, my boy, will play the sullen wanderer. You do that just fine.” Arthur rolled his eyes at the jab. “Besides, reckon Hosea should be keeping his face out of other peoples businesses for a little while.” Hosea huffed loudly from somewhere across the camp. 

“Been a while since just you and I been on a job together.” Arthur remarked.

“Too long, son.” Something in his voice was a little wistful. “Anyways, rest up! Enjoy the new camp! We’ll head out tomorrow.”

“You two better not go getting yourselves into too much trouble right after the bank and everything!” Susan commented from the other side of the camp where she was setting up.

“Oh I’m sure it won’t be much of anything. Nothing really ever goes on it these hick towns does it?” Dutch said, knowing full well the kind of stuff him and his associates had managed to get up to in ‘hick towns’.

“Just don’t be stupid.” 

\---

Arthur stirred awake at the crack of dawn on a reflex. It didn’t matter when he went to sleep anymore, it didn’t matter how loudly John snored in their shared tent or how late he was kept up because of it, he was wide awake every day at 6am. 

Dutch however wasn’t as much of an early riser, and so Arthur sat outside brewing himself a cup of gritty, bitter coffee, waiting for the morning chill to settle and the older man to wake up and tell him just what exactly he was expected to do today. 

Sometime after 8 Dutch emerged from his tent dressed to the nines, hair combed, beard trimmed, an image of faux sophistication.

“I hope you don’t expect me to get all dressed up like that.” Arthur gestured at his get up with the end of a low burning cigarette. “You know I hate that.” Dutch on the other hand seemed always eager to play at being a member of quote ‘high society’. Had Arthur not known the man as well as he did he would have thought Dutch maybe wanted to be one in earnest, but he knew the man viewed his little acts more as an opportunity to mock rich rather than assume their identity. 

“What you have on now will do just fine.” Dutch fussed with his tie. “Get on your horse son I’ll tell you what exactly I’ve been thinking up on our ride into town.”

In a matter of minutes Boadicea and the Count were saddled up and heading down the road at a steady trot.

“So Hosea told me he doesn’t know that much about the town, and that you two didn’t get much out of that O’Driscoll boy before you” Dutch ran a finger across his throat. Arthur knew what he meant. “Just that there’s supposed to be a whole lot of wealthy folk holed up there right now. Got me thinking there might be some business going on. An investment opportunity we ain’t privy to. And if that’s the case you know that means there’s a whole lot of money sitting in a safe somewhere in some one’s office.” Dutch was grinning wide and sharp.

“Sure we should be doin’ this, we got plenty of money from the last job...”

“Listen my boy, one day you’ll learn, never pass up an opportunity to make some cash, not when one falls in your lap all neat and pretty as this.” Dutch clicked at the Count to speed up a little down the path. “Now Arthur!” he yelled back to him. “Here’s the plan: we are gonna roll into town, I’ll get us a couple of hotel rooms for the week and then we split up. I’m gonna go pal it up with those high society men, see if I can find out where they’re hosting their poker games or something, and you, my son, are gonna mingle with the common folk.” Arthur knew he wasn’t the mingling sort of type. Ingratiating himself with the locals had never really been his strong point. He was good shot and a pair of hard fists, not exactly a man’s man. 

Arthur figured he was at least good at getting people angry when he tried. Not that that skill would be of much used to him in the moment. 

“I know you aren’t much for talking Arthur, you don’t need do a lot, just walk around, listen in on some conversations, ask some people where the best place to get a drink is. Alright?” 

“Yeah...” Arthur replied.

“Fantastic, ‘cause we’re coming up on the town right now, take a left.” They split off the main path and down a hill. Arthur heard distant noises and smelt the smoke and stink of civilization on the wind. The trail connected on to a larger road and before they knew it they were riding down the main street of the town of Killingly, it was just as mud slick and run down as he had come to expect. 

The outskirts of Killingly were lined with broken old shanty towns. Mining cottages, only the people who lived there weren’t miners anymore. Arthur guessed that the mines had dried up years ago, and that the people of the town, the life of it, had dried up too. 

The center of the town was a bit more put together but that wasn’t saying much. Men crouched at the stoops of alehouses, washed up drunk and disoriented before it was even noon. People passed each other on the streets, quiet as ghosts and covered in dirt and soot, deliberately avoiding eye contact. 

No one seemed to want to even acknowledge Arthur and Dutch riding in to town. 

Dutch stopped to hitch his horse at the first inn that came in to view. Arthur followed. 

In contrast to the rest of the town the inn seemed to be doing just fine, for all the poverty that surrounded it. The place doubled as a tavern, mostly to serve food to the customers staying in the rooms above. The man behind the counter seemed to light up when he saw Dutch coming through the threshold, nicely dressed and looking like he meant business. 

“Now you, sir, look like yer lookin’ to rent a room.”

“Well you’d be right! I’d like to rent a couple of rooms for the week, one for me and my uh… friend here.” Dutch gestured to Arthur. The clerk very obviously had not noticed him until then. He narrowed his eyes at the young man. 

“Uh, sure.” He handed Dutch two sets of keys. “Rooms 2b and 3b, up the stairs, on your left.”

Arthur looked like what he was and he knew it. People usually didn’t take very well to gunslingers rolling through their towns, especially when they were trying to cozy up to a different kind of ‘more sophisticated’ people. Arthur knew the clerk might not have been as keen on renting him a room had Dutch not been there, but he decided not to confront the squirrely look innkeeper about it. Not a battle worth fighting. 

Dutch passed the key to room 2b to Arthur on their way up the stairs. The doors to their rooms were side by side. Before the older man went to enter his room he pulled Arthur to his side to talk with him quietly. 

“Alright, you know the plan, lets meet back up at say… that saloon, a couple doors down. Didn’t catch the name. I’ll see you there at midnight.” Arthur nodded. Dutch slapped him on the back affectionately. “You’ve got this Arthur just relax, it’s easy as pie, nothing can go wrong.” Dutch stepped into the room, “I’ll see you soon.” and closed the door. 

Arthur went about the process of settling into his own room, but there wasn’t really much to settle. He had a couple changes of clothes alongside his ammunition and first aid supplies stored on his horse, but he hadn’t brought anything in with him. This wasn’t a vacation.

He figured it would be nice to at least sleep in a real bed for a couple nights. Even if the walls sometimes felt like they were closing in on him. 

Arthur didn’t idle very long in the room, just long enough to clean his revolver and pick where to go first. He decided the general store was as good a place as any to start. Customers there usually liked to gossip given it was the one place in town that everyone got around visiting eventually. 

It was a short walk only because there wasn’t that much to the town center. Only about a dozen buildings and only half of them in working order. He was relieved and unsurprised to see the sheriff’s office in complete disrepair, this wasn’t the kind of place that had law men at every corner watching for someone to start something, and while this surely said something negative about the repute of the town itself this was good news to him. 

The general store was a lot quieter and emptier than he expected, and it felt wrong. There were only two other people in there when he entered, but they didn’t look at each other, they didn’t talk to each other, their business was their own and they were obviously in no mood to shoot the shit with a shifty stranger either. Arthur lingered for a while, probably too long, trying to see if anyone else would come in, if anyone at all would say anything. But soon the shopkeeper was yelling at him, telling him to buy something or get out. He brought a bottle of horse medicine to the counter, and tried to strike up conversation with the teller while he rang it up. 

“Know anywhere to get a drink in town.” He felt like he was regurgitating exactly what Dutch had told him to, it sounded suspicious because of it.  
“Only one place to get a drink in town, less you count that swill Quint serves at the tavern.” The man handed Arthur his change, gave him a look that said plainly ‘get out’. Didn’t have to tell him twice. The store was a bust anyways.

Arthur quickly occupied himself with reading the label on the horse medicine and walking along the side streets outside, when something solid knocked his shoulder. 

Someone in front of him fell to the group with a yelp. 

At his feet was a frail, sickly looking woman, about his own age, maybe a couple years younger. She was writhing on the ground cupping a hand to her face, whispering something frantically to herself under her breath. 

Arthur bent down to try and help her to her feet but she looked back and him, fear stricken. 

“Don’t touch me!” She pushed at Arthur’s hands and scrambled away from him quickly as possible. The hand she held to her cheek was slick with blood. Had he done that? 

“I’m sorry ma’am, are you alright? Do you need help?” He tried to get closer to her, offering her his hand once again. 

“I said don’t touch me!” She pushed him again. Arthur took a couple steps back, the strange woman struggled to her feet. 

“Hey!” A man’s voice came from somewhere near by. “What the hell do you think yer doin’!” An older man, about Arthur’s size and weight but with a chest like a barrel and a wild look in his eye came stumbling out of a doorway and to the woman’s side. He looked Arthur up and down, sizing him up. “This man bothering you Beth?” Beth tucked her chin into her chest but didn’t respond. 

“I didn’t mean any harm mister, just knocked into her is all.” 

“Really then?” The man got up into Arthur’s space, nose to nose eye to eye. He smelled like alcohol and blood. “why’s her face like that then. You do somethin’ to her?”

“I didn’t do anything to her.” He gritted his teeth and forced the words out with intention. Anticipating a fight he put his hand to the knife on his hip. The man didn’t notice this, but the woman who was watching them both intently did. She walked over and tugged oh his shoulder. 

“Let’s go… he didn’t… he didn’t do nothin’. Lets just go.” The man didn’t acknowledge her, just continued to glare at Arthur before he reluctantly backed away. 

“Don’t let me see you here again.” He spat a viscous glob of mucus onto the ground at Arthur’s feet, before wrapping an arm around Beth and leading her off somewhere. He was relived to see them go. As if he had gotten a bad enough impression from the town already, that couple didn’t leave him feeling any more welcome. 

\---

It was several hours later that Arthur had given up and dragged himself to the saloon a little while earlier than when Dutch had said to meet him there. No harm in drinking a little, listening in on some of what the drunkards of the town had to say. Arthur thought they might be a fair bit more talkative than the sober people he had the misfortune of encountering that afternoon. 

The rest of the day had gone about has well as the first half. The most he had to show for it was the fact he hadn’t gotten in to a brawl with anyone yet. 

The bar was pretty full, as he expected it to be in a place where the height of entertainment was drinking yourself into an early grave, but there wasn’t much chatter. No music. A few small groups of people had sequestered themselves off to the sides and were talking quietly among themselves, but for the most part everyone who was there was there alone. 

And so Arthur also drank alone. When in Rome…

Dutch arrived at exactly the time he said he would and very graciously did not comment when he noticed Arthur had been drinking there for a while. 

“I have had a productive day Arthur!” His cheeriness was a bright red beacon in a room full of somber men. He beckoned the bartender over and ordered them both a round of drinks. “I found where all those rich folk play their poker games, in the rooms above the old lawyer’s office.” He took a drink. “There’s a whole bunch of ‘em, gotta be at least a dozen staying either in the inn, or some other place near by. Fuckers don’t know exactly what they’re here for though, talking about having a meeting with someone tomorrow, couldn’t get all that much out of them, they all just assumed I was here on the same set of information they were.” He lit a celebratory cigar. “But it’s good info, lot of people are here ready to invest money in whatever the hell they have going on. Can’t imagine what it is, I’ll figure that out at tomorrow’s game.” Dutch hummed into his glass. “That’s enough about my day, I want to hear about yours.” he pointed to Arthur. Arthur gripped at his drink and stared into it like it was going to swallow him. 

“Didn’t go very well, folks here… they don’t like talkin’.” As much as he hated to disappoint Dutch, he didn’t have anything to give him, but the older man seemed to understand.

“I figured as much.” The pair drank quietly. Arthur stewed. 

“Aw hell Dutch, I don’t like this place. Something about it don’t feel right.”

“Relax Arthur.” Dutch drawled. 

“That’s the second time you’ve told me to relax today.”

“That is because you are not following my advice!” Dutch patted at Arthur’s chest with his finger. “When have I ever let you down? When have I given you bad advice?” He took Arthur’s silence as an answer. “Never! See? Trust me my boy, I have a good feeling about this.” He leaned in and spoke a little softer. “There’s money in this town somewhere, a lot of it. Just give me some time to figure it out.”

“Ok ok… it’s just, this place gives me the creeps… something about the people...”

“It’s a sad town, Son. Filled with sad people. From what I heard is this place has been destitute since the mines ran dry a few years ago. It’s all just people barely getting by now.” Arthur considered the people he had seen earlier for what they were, impoverished and desperate. “Try not to think too hard about it, such are the woes of the civilized world. We’ll be out of here in no time and then you can forget all about it.” 

“God I hope so...” Arthur was beyond praying now, but he could at least hope.

A door swung open behind them. 

“Hey. Hey! It’s you!” Arthur recognized the voice of the man from earlier immediately. 

“Aw shit.” He whispered, Dutch looked at him in concern but Arthur dismissed him with a wave, he could handle this. 

“What the hell are you doin’ in my bar?” The man slurred, loudly, drunkenly. 

“Last I checked your name wasn’t the one on the sign, it ain’t your damn bar. It’s a free country, leave me the hell alone.” Arthur turned his back to him but the man got up in his space suddenly, pulling at the younger man’s shoulder to turn him around. 

“Hey pretty boy, don’t you fuckin’ ignore me, I’m talkin’ to you.” He heard Dutch snicker at ‘pretty boy’ and narrowly resisted the urge to kick him, politely, in the shin. 

“You wanna go asshole?” Arthur stood up to his full height. Arthur was not a small man, but neither was this stranger. Regardless, he had taken down men larger and more sober than this sorry bastard before. 

“Take it outside!” The bartender yelled at the pair. The stranger lowered his voice trying to sound dangerous. 

“You’re damn right I do.” And at that Arthur grabbed the man’s collar with force and dragged the drunken bastard in a quick easy motion, tossing him out through the doors of the saloon. Dutch whistled, impressed, and Arthur stormed outside. 

This was not the first time in recent history that Arthur had gotten into a fight. He’d be hard pressed to recall a week of his life gone entirely by without him having to bloody his fists. Maybe back a couple winters ago when he was holed up in camp for almost an entire month sick with pneumonia. 

The man on the ground in front of him was no different from all those that came before him, he was nothing special. He pulled himself to his feet and took a swing at the younger man. Arthur dodged the drunken blow and returned one to his stomach. The stranger grabbed at Arthur’s hunting jacket and they both went tumbling to the ground. 

“You think yer so fuckin’ tough! Comin’ in to my town like you know a goddamn thing!” He was swinging at Arthur’s face but only got one hit in before he raised his arms to block, and then the man was breathing, sweaty and winded over him, Arthur grabbed at the mans neck and flipped them over. He struggled to push Arthur off but failed. 

“Don’t you tell what to do you sad sack of shit. I’ll go wherever I damn well please!” and Arthur put his fists to the drunk man’s face. Between blows the stranger grimaced up at him, all the malice in the world on his lips. 

“Fuck you.” Arthur felt the spit hit his face and then he saw only red. The blows to the older man’s face came faster, harder.

“Leave me” a crunch “the hell” a snap “alone!” and with one last punch Arthur dropped the bloodied and teary man onto the dirt. 

He got to his feet, dusted himself off, heard the strained breaths escaping out through his victim’s broken nose. 

It wasn’t murder, at least. 

He turned to walk back up into the bar and find Dutch, but the man was already outside, smoking his cigar and watching the fight and it’s aftermath. He had probably been there the entire time. Arthur was suddenly very self conscious, not entirely ashamed but almost, and newly aware that he was covered in wet blood. 

Dutch stepped down off the porch and met him on the street. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel Arthur.” 

His voice was dead neutral, but then Arthur looked up, met his eyes, and the older man’s face split into a grin. 

“You better wash that handsome face of yours, pretty boy.” And on that note he left down the street walk in the directions of their lodgings. 

Arthur stood there a moment, feeling hot with a mixture of embarrassment and something else. 

\---

The bed of the river that ran out behind the town was dark and thick with coal slurry. It left deep black stains on Arthur’s boots as he waded into it. It was the dead of night, but the moon was big and bright enough in the sky that could still see the red of the blood washing off his hands and face and traveling down the stream. He stood there for a moment in the cold water, just listening, to the rushing waves, to the birds and the deer and the deep croaking frogs. 

And then he heard something, the water parting not far from him, and someone, or something wading in. His mind raced with the possibilities. A bear? That man from the bar? 

But what stood not ten feet away from him was something dark and twisted and in many ways, much much worse than anything he was expecting. Something like a man, but tall and malformed, red and glistening, jagged black teeth sticking out at the wrong ends, face a bulbous mess of horns and flesh. It moaned, low and mournful. 

And in that moment, in the river, it was the Devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm being the change I want to see in the world and writing that vandermorgan I wish there was more of. And trust me, things will escalate, It will come, eventually. I have the story all planed out, and if you yell at me loud enough I'll write faster.  
> You can find me over at its-cowbabey on tumblr.  
> Please say hi I am so very lonely, none of my friends have played RDR2. 
> 
> Hopefully this isn't too bad in terms of typos will probably be doing minor edits on it for the foreseeable future. Don't have a beta as of now.


	2. Dead Man Walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW;  
> -graphic descriptions of illness  
> -gore  
> -murder

Arthur doesn’t entirely process his quick flight back to the hotel the same way he doesn’t process what he saw in the river. But he needed to say something, needed to tell Dutch.

The first thing that he registers clearly is knocking on the door of room 3b, still soaking wet and dripping muddy water onto the wooden floor. It doesn’t take Dutch long to answer and the door to swing open.

“Christ Arthur what the hell happened?” The older man grabbed at his shoulder and led him gently into the room, shutting the entrance behind them.

“Oh hell Dutch I don’t fuckin’ know there was something- someone outside...” 

“Sit down, son.” He pulled up the only lounge chair in the room and made Arthur take a seat. “Looks like someone tried to drown you.” He didn’t respond, could only think about the thing, the monster. “Did someone try to drown you?” The young man shook his head. 

He didn’t want to call it a monster, didn’t want to go down that road. Arthur was a lot of things but he wasn’t crazy. There weren’t really any other words to describe the thing in the lake though. None but ‘monster’.

“Hey, Arthur, look at me.” Dutch gripped at his arm trying to steady him. And then Arthur was looking at him, looking at his nose, his eyes, his forehead. At his hair, damp from the bath, and a single droplet of water sliding off his chin, down his neck, over his chest, and disappearing into his half buttoned shirt.

“Tell me what happened.” Arthur buried his face in his hands and tried to collect himself. He was quiet for a moment. Dutch waited. 

“I was outside washin’ that bastards blood off me in the river, and somethin’ came out through the trees and decided to take a damn bath with me!” 

“Something? What do you mean something?”

“I mean it didn’t look human Dutch, it was tall like a man, but it’s head and face were all... messed up.” The older man gave him a look like he had just told him we saw the ghost of George Washington dancing in the nude. 

“How hard did that feller hit you on the head?” 

“Ahhrghh I knew you’d do this!” Arthur played at being angry but he was really no more frustrated with Dutch than he was with himself for apparently losing his mind somewhere between here and South Hampton.

“Calm down calm down! I bet you just need some sleep is all, must be tired with all that… investigating... you got up to today.” 

“Oh shut up, you know I ain’t cut out for this and you brought me along anyway.”

“That I did.” Arthur threw up his hands in defeat. 

“You’re right, I’m goin’ to sleep.” The younger man got up quickly and went to the door. 

“Arthur.” But he wasn’t stopping. “Arthur!” Dutch’s hand gripped his shoulder firmly. Arthur turned to him but didn’t meet his eyes. He felt something soft fall onto his head and shoulders. It was a towel, still slightly damp. “I don’t regret bringing you along, alright?” He felt the older man’s warm hands through the towel rubbing at his wet and matted hair. “Now go rest up, I’ll see you in the tavern for breakfast in the morning.” He let Arthur go but left him with the towel. 

“Ok Dutch.” All the anger was gone from his voice, the fight sucked out of him in an instant. Dutch van der Linde knew how to play him just right. Sometimes he hated it. Other times he didn’t.  
Arthur left the room quietly. 

He could have laid awake that night. Could have stared at the ceiling well into the early hours of the morning thinking about the beast, agonizing over the question of what exactly he saw, letting its horrible visage torment his every waking thought.

But he didn’t. 

\---

Dutch was just as disgustingly cheerful that morning as he had been coming into town yesterday. Arthur supposed he was still riding the high of their last robbery the same way Arthur had been before the mood of Killingly got its claws in him. Not that the young man had ever been much for outward expression, not the way Dutch was, with the spark in his eye, the energy in his step, and, of course, the lavish spending. Fine brandy, good cigars, and other simple pleasures. 

The older man wasn’t sat at the bar like he would have expected, but had instead taken to one of the tables by the window, nursing a cup of coffee and eating something that looked warm and heavy. Arthur hadn’t had something prepared in a kitchen in months. 

“Arthur! Come here son.” He gestured to the seat across from him, Arthur got comfortable. “You’ll be happy to know that the food here is much better than the company. You should get yourself something.” Before he could agree or attest Dutch was calling for the waitress. 

“How can I help you two gentlemen?” The politeness, the soft-spoken customer serving kind of attitude was there, but there was something hollow in her voice. Arthur looked up at her.   
She reminded him a lot of the woman from yesterday, sickly, if a little more put together, but she moved like she didn’t know where her limbs began or ended, like she was constantly forgetting and rediscovering them, desperately trying to hide her own mounting panic. She had a big ugly sore on her mouth that she tried in vain to conceal under her long mousy hair.

“I’d like to get another order of the steak and eggs for my friend here, if you will.” Dutch either didn’t notice anything off about her, or didn’t care. 

“I’ll be right out with that sir.” She left their table, walking away, stiff and awkward. It was all very strange, but folk here weren’t keen on other people getting involved in their business. Her problems were her own and so Arthur wasn’t going to ask. 

“It’s little things like this that keep me going my boy. You ought to learn to enjoy them a little more often.” Arthur wasn’t one for spending money on the fleeting comforts Dutch enjoyed, he was a bit more practical, but maybe this kind of thing was nice, once in while. That was, if he could learn to forget where they were. 

Neither of the men had noticed the waitress collapse until they heard the sound of a plate shatter and the metallic clang of silverware hitting the floor only a few feet away. She was splayed out on the ground, mumbling nonsense to herself and grasping at nothing. 

Maybe Arthur wasn’t giving him enough credit because Dutch was up off his feet in an instant to help the woman. 

“Ma’am.” He was lifting her by the shoulder, trying to get a look at her face. “Ma’am are you alright? What happened?” 

“Nonononononononononononono” It came out as a whisper. 

“Ma’am are you hurt?” But she wasn’t replying, only whispering, over and over again. “Arthur, come here.” he let the woman be for a moment. “You take this girl home, I’m gonna get a doctor.”  
“NononononoNONONO NO NO”

“Alright.” It wasn’t like he was about to refuse. 

“‘Scuse me sir, do you know where this young woman lives.” Dutch was talking to the clerk, who seemed to be making an effort to ignore what was going on in his tavern, with his employee. 

“Lives out down Haygen street. I think.” It wasn’t much in terms of accuracy, but it would probably do. Arthur lifted up the petite woman and held her to his chest, with one arm under her legs and another around her back, like he would a child. She didn’t weigh much more than one. 

She was still and stiff in his arms, looking out straight behind him with an unnervingly blank stare, mumbling ‘nonono’ into his neck.

“You got her, Arthur?”

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll meet you there then.” 

And Dutch was out the door searching for the nearest doctor. Arthur carried the woman outside as gently as he could in her state, lifted her up onto the front of his horse and rode with one arm wrapped tightly around her front to keep her from falling off and cracking her already scrambled head open on the ground. 

He didn’t bother trying to make conversation, she wasn’t making any sense, never stopped repeating the same word, not for the whole 20 minutes it took Arthur to find the street she lived on, and not for the next 5 before a man jumped out, yelling onto the street. Shouting at Arthur to let his wife go. 

“What the hell are you doing! Let her go ya goddamn son of a bitch!” 

“Calm the down mister, I didn’t do nothin’.” He got down slowly off his horse to lift her up off Boadicea’s back. The man wasn’t reacting violently anymore but he was looking at Arthur with clear suspicion. 

“Wha-what happened to her?” He took his wife’s hands but she didn’t react, just fell forward onto him. 

“I dunno. Was hoping you could tell me. She was workin’ at the tavern when she just collapsed all of the sudden.” 

“I-I…” Looking at the man now he didn’t look much better off than his wife. 

“Let me help her inside.” Arthur offered to help carry her. The husband accepted wordlessly. The stranger led him around a corner through to a small wooded clearing, in the center of it was a house that could scarcely be considered a house. It was little more than a few planks of wood held together by nails rusting and falling away in places. It couldn’t have provided much more protection from the elements than his own tent. 

But the disrepair wasn’t what Arthur noticed first about the house, because outside it was a grave, a small one, barely 4 by 2 feet, dirt still fresh and loose, marked only by a single wooden cross with no inscription.

Arthur tried not to look at it. Tried to focus on the woman leaning against his side, on getting her indoor, but he couldn’t. A thing like that demands to be acknowledged. 

“My uh... boss went to get some help.” He set the woman down on the single rickety cot inside the hut. “Said he was lookin’ for a doctor and would meet me here.”

“What!” The man whipped around in his direction, gone from resigned and quiet to enraged in an instant.

“My boss is gettin a doctor he-

“What the hell do you think yer doin’!”

“I-”

“He’s gonna-he’s gonna-” The sickly man was pacing, frantically around the limited space of the single room home. 

“Listen I don’t know what on god’s green earth is goin’ on in this town but this lady needs a doctor.”

“You!” The man got up uncomfortably close to him, finger to Arthur’s chest, pressing hard into him. “You don’t know nothin’!” He would have hit any other stranger with the balls to get in his face like that, but not here, not now, with this man so frail and shaking with weakness and worry.

“Tell me then! What’s wrong with her!? What’s wrong with you!?” 

“Get out. Get out! Get out get out get out!” The man was pushing at Arthur’s chest trying to force him in the direction of the door, but Arthur was tall and healthy and not about to be moved. 

“Arthur!” Dutch was calling him from outside, he must have seen Boadicea hitched out on the road. 

“I’m in here Dutch!” He yelled out to him. The older man dashed into the shack with another stranger in tow.

“Arthur, this is Mr. Gernthal.” The man that followed him in didn’t look much like a doctor, didn’t look much like one with the stomach for the kind of work that got bloody. He was older and fragile looking, but not in the same way the poor of the town looked, in the kind of way that got Arthur thinking he was the kind of person who wouldn’t last long living the kind of life that he did. “Mr. Gernthal is the assistant for the doctor in town. The actual doctor was out on business.”

Arthur grunted a greeting at him. 

“You!” The angry man’s attention was now directed at Mr. Gernthal and thankfully away from himself. “Leave me n’ my family alone you fuckin’ butcher!” The doctor’s eyes went wide with shock and the sickly man went charging toward him, only to be stopped by Dutch, standing firmly between the two. 

“I’m gonna need you to calm down sir, he’s only here to help you. You and your wife.” 

“Don’t tell me to calm down! I know what he is!” he went to try and run around Dutch but was stopped by the older man’s arms spread wide to wall him off.

“Think about your wife for a second, just think about her. Mr. Gernthal is the only one here who can really help her.” This got him to still for a moment, and gave the doctor the opportunity to say his piece. 

“I know things are complicated right now mister Harlow, I know. I just…” There was something real and sad about the way he spoke. “I don’t want things to be worse than they have to be alright? You can trust me.” A second of silence passed between then men in the room and all they could here in that moment was the soft whispers of the woman in the corner, ‘nononononono’. 

“I wouldn’t trust ya far as I could throw ya, but I don’t suppose I got any choice.” He backed down.

Mr. Gernthal walked in, carrying a suitcase of supplies in with him. Both men walked timidly over the the cot. 

“It’s best you two get going now, I’ve got things handled from here.” The doctor opened his bag and pulled out a syringe. 

“Alright doc, I’ll leave you to it. Let’s go Arthur.” Arthur’s eyes lingered on the exchange in the corner, and they lingered again on the grave outside while leaving the house. 

Arthur was quiet for most of their ride back into the town center, but it wasn’t thoughtful quiet, if anything it was quiet spent trying to do anything but think. He was trying to clear his head, trying to feel the early afternoon sun on his skin, trying to appreciate the gentle trot and comforting presence of Boadicea underneath him. But it all came running back when the smell of sewage and ash hit him again on main street. 

“We should get out of here for a little while.” Dutch suggested.

Arthur figured that maybe he was starting to wisen to some of what was going on around him, that maybe his attitude was changing and he too was starting to feel suffocated the same way Arthur did. Or maybe Dutch had just seen through him again, knew he needed to get out before he did something stupid. 

“To where?” 

“There’s the old mines I wanted to check out. I got to thinking at the game last night that maybe there was some illegal digging going on.” Dutch clicked at the Count and was already headed back up the road. “It’s still work, but the ride should be nice. Give us a second to breathe.” 

“Sounds just fine Dutch.” And Arthur was following after him again. 

\---

Arthur didn’t feel like he was well and truly outside until he was far enough away from civilization not to notice the stink of it. The country was always beautiful, even if the people there were as dirty and rotten as himself. 

The midday sun was bright and warm and Arthur rode a comfortable enough distance behind Dutch that he didn’t feel so noticed. Being around Dutch often made him feel watched, not in the way it felt to be watched by a predator, he wasn’t afraid, but whenever Dutch looked at him Arthur found he wanted to be the best version of himself, and he so often wasn’t. 

This ride however, it felt different, more companionable, more relaxed, there weren’t any expectations of him. And so he started to hum, quiet enough that only he could hear it. 

Arthur realized that for all his worries, and his guilt, and his mistakes, that things, right now, were ok. They weren’t poor, they weren’t on the run, no one had died, not for a while. 

Things had certainly been worse before. He had lost something, and although it had been over a year he was, in many ways, still losing something. Every time he was reminded of it, he would lose something again, just a little. Like back at the house. With the grave. 

Things would never be entirely right, not after what happened. But life had never been right to begin with, and it certainly wasn’t ever going to be fair. 

The best he could do was hold on tightly to what he had, to appreciate everyone that cared about him despite how bloody and gnarled of a person he became.   
Dutch. Dutch wasn’t going anywhere. 

He wasn’t fragile the same way innocence was. 

The time passed between them, quiet and serene. 

They had been following the river that led up to the mines for a little over an hour when they decided to stop and eat beside a short ledge that split the stream into a waterfall. It was small, nothing much compared to the waterfalls they had seen farther north back when they both were younger, but it was pretty in its own way. Dutch warmed up a couple cans of corned beef over a makeshift fire, and Arthur sat out on the bank with his journal, sketching the scene. 

Back when he was younger he would show his journals to Dutch, but now, as a man, Arthur kept them to himself. This had been a point of contention between the two of them about a decade ago but the conversation was long buried and Dutch had stopped trying to pry, which was why Arthur jumped a little when he felt the older man lean over his shoulder to get a look at his drawings. 

“You’ve gotten a lot better.” Arthur slammed the journal shut. 

“I thought we went over this Dutch.”

“Yeah yeah. I know. Just a shame you keep it hidden. A talent like that.”

“It ain’t much...”

“Nonsense, my boy, you’ve got an eye for beauty is what you’ve got.” Dutch took a seat next to him and handed over a can of food he had heated. “You ought to show off more.” 

Arthur let out a huff and tucked into his meal. For a while that was all they did, sitting and eating.

“What-what did you think of those folks back there, that couple, and that doctor?” 

“I think you we’re right Arthur, there is something wrong with this town, just wish I had an inkling of an idea what.”

“What are we gonna do?” 

“Well I figured we should keep poking around, just another day or two. I’ve already paid for the rooms for a week and I don’t think we’re in any immediate danger.” Dutch finished his food and set his can aside. “Besides, there’s still money here and I’m not spending so much time in this rotten as hell place without something to show for it.”

If it had been up to Arthur they would have left right then and there. Gotten on their horses, forgotten the mines, left it all a mystery. But he knew Dutch wasn’t that kind of person, not the kind that left things unfinished, or backed off the moment it got a little tough. So he didn’t protest, it wasn’t going to do anything. 

“Ok.”

“That’s my boy.” Dutch got up a patted Arthur reassuringly on the back. It was a little humiliating, being treated like he was still too young to tell right from wrong. He was 28, and god dammit Dutch really wasn’t that much older than him.

“You, know Dutch,” The younger man said as he got up. “I’m not a boy anymore.” This made Dutch pause for a second. He looked Arthur up and down, almost like he was sizing him up for a fight, but then he met the younger’s eyes. 

“You’re right Arthur. You’re not.” 

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that. Dutch mounted the Count. 

“You coming?” He asked. 

“Y-yeah, I’m comin’.” Arthur hopped up onto Boadicea and together they headed further upstream in the direction of the mines. 

\---

It was a little while later that they finally got to the opening of the mine, the river split off into a smaller streamed flowing out of the old shaft, carrying coal black run off and debris with it. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been though. The place clearly hadn’t been in use for years.

“Well,” Arthur spoke up. “Sure as hell don’t look like anyone’s been minin’ here.” 

“Don’t take everything you see at face value Arthur. Sure it’s empty here, but there’s other entrances.” Dutch stepped down off the Count and went up to the opening to get a closer look. “I think we should go a little ways in. We’re not going spelunking or anything, I just want to see if I can maybe hear something coming from anywhere else in the system.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea Dutch?”

“Yes I’m sure, have some faith for once! I know what I’m doing.” Arthur gave up trying to talk him down and dismounted.

“Alright then.”

“Get your lantern we’re going to need to be able to see.” 

Arthur unhooked it from his saddle and struck a match to light it. He was running low on oil and it probably wasn’t going to last too long. He hoped they made this quick.

There was enough space between the boards that had been hammered over the entrance that a small person could squeeze through, but Arthur had to pry another one off so that they could both fit inside. 

The interior of the mine was damp, and the water of the stream sloshed underneath their boots as they went. They walked side by side, Arthur holding out the lamp in front of them. It cast strange and twisted shadows on the walls, and the further they went, the farther they got from daylight, and the more Arthur felt like he was being swallowed. 

He thought being trapped inside was bad, but this was infinitely worse.

Dutch drew his gun from its holster.

“You hear somethin’?” Arthur asked, unnerved by the older man’s sudden need to defend himself. 

“No, but there’s no harm in being cautious.” The dark enclosed space must also have gotten to him. 

They had walked just past the last remaining glow of natural light when the mine diverged into three separate paths all leading in different directions, they stopped for a moment, confused about how to proceed. 

“I swear to god Dutch, if you say we should split up-”

“Oh come on Arthur! I’m not stupid.” He said, exasperated. “Now shut up so I can listen.”

For a minute they were both deathly quiet. Through the walls of the cave they could hear nothing of the outside. No birds, no wind, no shaking of leaves, just the silence and the endless black. 

“This way.” Dutch said, pointing down the leftmost path.

“Did you hear somethin’ this time?”

“Yeah I think so… maybe…” He was still for a second, gathering himself up before proceeding. “Let’s go find out.”

They walked on, as quietly as they could, keeping their footsteps light and their breathing shallow. And then Arthur heard something, faint and low. It was long and sad sounding. He put his hand to Dutch’s chest to stop him.

“You heard that too right?” He whispered at the older man. 

“Yeah, I did.” They stopped there in the center of the tunnel just listening. 

In the distance they could hear a shuffling, the sound of skin against stone, and they could hear moaning. It sounded like whoever it was making the noises was in pain. 

“Sounds like it’s getting closer.” Arthur said, fighting the urge to snuff the lantern, but he knew if he did, the chances of him ever getting it lit again were too slim for comfort. 

Neither of them wanted to take another step forward. There sure as hell was something in the mines, but it wasn’t illegal digging, and they were caught somewhere between fear and curiosity. The urge to flee and the need to know, but before they could decide if they really wanted to find out what lived inside the caves, the answer was decided for them. 

Whatever was coming toward them had broken into a run.

And then they saw it, coming out of the darkness, tall and pale and rail thin. It’s face was cancerous and deformed, nose collapsed into a bloody hole, eyes sightless and swollen. It didn’t have enough of a mouth to speak.

Arthur recognized it instantly as the thing that he saw in river the night before. 

And Dutch shot it dead without hesitation. 

With a bullet straight through the heart it fell with a heavy thud onto the rocky floor, and there it laid, un-moving. 

Dutch was breathing heavily, a panicked look in his eyes.

“That’s the thing.” Arthur said. “That’s the thing I saw last night.” The younger man approached the corpse of the monster, only it wasn’t really a monster. It was just a man, a man horribly twisted, a man perverted, a man ravaged by sickness, but a man. 

“He’s dead.” Was all Arthur could think to say about him. 

Dutch was silent. He didn’t move, didn’t make a motion to approach the body, he stood there shell-shocked for a moment. 

Only after a little while did he re-holster his gun and speak. 

“I don’t think someone can really be dead if they weren’t entirely alive in the first place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little hard to get through only because I'm really looking forward to the next one.   
> Chapter 3 will be the first and only chapter in this series written from Dutch's POV so I'm really looking forward to exploring that. His character is incredibly complex and interesting, but this also makes writing for him challenging, so either this next chapter will go very quickly because I am excited, or it will take me a while because it is difficult. It will also get a little NSFW so that's some to look forward to ;)  
> I hope the pacing of this story is ok, honestly if I had the time and motivation I would have written something longer, but right now its shaping up to be about 25,000-30,000 words, give or take. 
> 
> once again, tumblr is its-cowbabey come say hi, I'm lonely, your comments motivate me to write. I am a friendly person and I like to talk to people.


	3. The Dead Man's Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW;  
> -NSFW  
> -Mentions of traumatic experiences

The space above the abandoned lawyers office wasn’t some dusty haunt. The men that gathered there every night would have thought themselves too good for that. No. This place was well lit, swept and furnished with the best the town had to offer, not that it was much. 

Dutch hated places like the gambling room in the old offices. Clean little holes carved out for a very specific type of person, all so they wouldn’t have to get their boots dirty in the mud with the common folk. 

There wasn’t anything that made them better than anybody else. They were fat and bone and meat like the rest of humanity, only they wanted to feel special. They wanted to transcend. They wanted to be more than flesh, they wanted to be more than shambling animals, they wanted to be superior. 

There were so many businesses built around making people feel superior.

It made Dutch want to puke.

“You know.” The man on the opposite end of the table spoke as he shuffled the deck. “I absolutely cannot let you win like you did last night.” The way he talked was airy, like he couldn’t take anything seriously if he tried. 

“If my eyes weren’t as sharp as they are I would have suspected you of cheating Mr. Smith.” Another player, a man like everyone else in that room, chimed in. The jab brought Dutch back into himself, just a little. 

“Oh I assure you I am nothing if not an honest man.” He wasn’t a cheater after all, but he knew a thing or two about bluffing. 

“I don’t doubt that.” The dealer chuckled.

Dutch checked his cards, 2 of hearts, 7 of clubs. Pretty awful, but he was beyond really caring if he won or not, he was too tired to give a shit if the petty socialites liked him anymore. 

He was a fool to care at all in the first place. 

Dutch called, took a long drink from the glass of kentucky bourbon in front of him.

The dealer eventually revealed 3 cards. King of spades, jack of hearts, 8 of hearts. Dutch folded, wasn’t worth it. 

He didn’t really pay attention to the rest of the hand. He just drank. The three men were talking amicably among each other. All of it business jargon, none of it relevant, he tuned it out. 

Another hand was played, he folded again, he drank again. No one seemed to really notice him, now that he wasn’t trying. So much for sharp eyes, he could have robbed them all blind, they were so absorbed with themselves. 

He drank some more. 

Bastards, all of them. 

He folded again. 

“I didn’t see you at the meeting today.” The dealer said. Looking down at his own hand. 

“I had some business with an employee that needed attending to.” Dutch couldn’t exactly tell them what he had been up to. Why he had missed a meeting he’d forgotten was happening. “You’re going to have to fill me in.” 

“Hmmm, well… I think you should talk with Dr. Byrne yourself. It’s the kind of thing you ought to hear in person.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Dutch checked. Another shitty hand. Folded.

“It’s really not my place to say.”

The room went quiet and Dutch thought about the men in front of him. He thought about how easy it would be to shoot them dead, take whatever off their bodies and just leave. He thought about how easy it would be for these living and breathing people right in front of him to suddenly stop living and breathing.

He thought about the man in the mines. 

He didn’t want to be in the gambling room. He didn’t want to be around these people.

He drank. 

He thought about Arthur.

He thought about Annabelle.

He drank. 

“Mr. Smith?” the dealer questioned.

“Yes?” Dutch replied. 

“Are you doing ok?”

“’m doin’ fine.”

“I think you’ve had quite enough to drink.” God how he hated that condescending tone. 

“I’m still conscious. One more hand.” Dutch was getting loose, getting sloppy, but now he wanted to win, just one time. Just one more chance to prove to these men, these people so far removed from the dirt, and the blood, and the suffering of it all, that he was better than them at something. 

He thought that maybe this made him a hypocrite, but he was too far gone to care.

The dealer narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Fine.” He acquiesced, passed out the cards

Dutch though about how satisfying it would feel to grab the man by the collar and throw him outside, right onto the dusty manure smeared streets. And then he was replaying the other night over in his head. Arthur tossing that brute through the saloon doors. The crack of the young man’s fists on the strangers skull. It was violent, it was brutal, and somehow he couldn’t look away. 

Dutch looked at his hand. Ace of clubs, 8 of spades. He called in, placed a chip in the center of the table. The three other players did the same. 

He thought about the way Arthur looked at him, that for all the younger’s strength and ability he still looked at Dutch like he was a man worth admiring. 

God it felt good to be looked at like that, felt good that there was someone out there that looked to him as an example of a “good man”.

Felt good that that someone was Arthur. 

The dealer revealed three cards. 7 of hearts, 8 of clubs, Queen of diamonds. 

Dutch made a bet. The man to his right folded. The others called it. 

They all checked, another card was revealed.

Dutch saw the Ace of spades and stopping thinking for the first time all night. Instead he remembered an old tale Hosea told him about a decade back, Wild Bill Hickok and the Dead Man’s Hand. 

He could feel a gun at his back that wasn’t really there. Wondered if maybe it had already gone off. 

“All in.” Dutch pushed all his chips to the center of the table. 

He wanted to feel alive. 

The man to his left folded, but the dealer himself huffed. 

“That’s a bluff if I’ve ever seen one.” He called Dutch’s bet and pushed all his chips to the center of the table. 

“Let’s see then.” Dutch grinned, he was tipsy, but the dealer was a fool to think that meant anything. He could still play. 

The dealer revealed his cards, Queen of spades, 7 of diamonds. 

Dutch revealed his cards, Ace of clubs, 8 of spades. The Dead Man’s hand.

“Shit.” 

It made Dutch want to break into laughter hearing the man so improper.

“I’ll be taking that.” He scooped the chips up into his hands. He wondered how hard the fall from his high horse must have felt. God the dealer’s expression was almost funny enough to make him forget what had happened just hours earlier. “We’ll ‘s been nice playin’ with you gentlemen but I’m afraid I must be on my way now.” Dutch got up, collected his winnings and made for the door. The dealer was quiet, like a kicked dog. “Be seein’ you.” He tipped his hat and stumbled out the door, down the stairs, and into the cool night air. 

 

\---

For the first few steps outside Dutch was watching his feet, trying to walk straight and proper like a sober man, but the giddiness of his victory bubbled over into him whistling and half-skipping drunkenly down the street. 

It was only when he let his mind wander back to earlier that day did he actually sober up.

He was thinking about Arthur again, standing wet and confused in the threshold of his hotel room. He couldn’t blame him for being panicked, that man they had encountered in the mines… it was unlike anything he had seen before.

Dutch had seen a lot of death and pain in his lifetime, he had killed people, he had lost people, he had seen the toll illness takes on men and women. But that man in the cave. That was something else. That was humanity, fragile and bent, molded into something that should never be. It was sickness and real suffering, and it was terrifying. 

Dutch remembered what Annabelle looked like when she died. He tried not to think about it, almost never did anymore. But he was drunk and his mind was fuzzy and he couldn’t stop thinking about the blood coming out of the hole in her side. The blood on his hands, trying to stop it, trying to keep it in. Sometimes It was all he could see anymore, when he hit someone, or stabbed someone. 

The blood on his hands. 

Annabelle. 

Her blood. 

Hosea had called him out not that long ago for being less than willing to get his hands dirty. He said he had changed. Dutch supposed he had. There was a heaviness in him more often now. A weight. 

Annabelle left and then everything was different. 

Sometimes it wasn’t though, sometimes it would all lift, and there standing in the center of it all, bright and steady, was Arthur.

Arthur. 

Dutch was back at the hotel again, stumbling into the lobby and up the stairs, but he wasn’t headed to his room. He was headed to 2b. 

Arthur wasn’t a boy anymore. He had been once, but then there was Susan, and then Annabelle, and suddenly Dutch was looking at Arthur and he was a man. 

He didn’t ever bother knocking just walked right in, the door hadn’t been locked. 

Arthur was sat on the bed, pouring over that journal of his again. Dutch loved Arthur’s drawings, they were beautiful, but what the young man was drawing then was anything but, he recognized it instantly. That deformed face. 

Arthur shut his journal like he had been startled out of a trance. He locked eyes with the older man and Dutch felt a shiver run down through him.

“What’re you doin’ here Dutch?” It wasn’t entirely hostile, the way Arthur spoke, but it was far from the warm familiar tone he usually used. Dutch sat himself down next to Arthur on the bed, he could hear the frame creak with the force. 

Arthur was clutching his journal in a death grip, looking into Dutch’s eyes with a fire, but he wasn’t there to start anything, wasn’t there to fight. 

Dutch leaned over and took the book out of his hands, gentle as a man like him could manage. Arthur didn’t resist, just kept his eyes locked on his while he set it aside on the nightstand. 

“You oughta burn that drawing, shouldn’t be in with the rest of ‘em, doesn’t fit.” Dutch commented, Arthur shied away. Dutch new he was very secretive with his drawings, but he supposed maybe Arthur had wanted to keep this one hidden for different reasons. 

“What’do you mean?” 

“I mean, it don’t look right, it ain’t like you.” 

Arthur was quiet.

“You’re better than that, better than shit like that.” Dutch was leaning into Arthur, drawn towards him like a magnet.

“Life is fragile… people are fragile… but you’re not Arthur you’re…” Dutch was resting his hand on the younger man’s hip, leaning closer and closer, fitting his head into the crook of his neck, near enough that he could hear the man’s pulse beat rapidly. 

Arthur let out a shaky breath. 

“You’re not ever gonna leave me are you, Arthur?” 

And then he was thinking again, through the drunken haze, about Annabelle, and how soft and small she was, about how good she was. Too good, like porcelain, beautiful and breakable. But Arthur, Arthur was different. The muscles underneath Dutch’s hands were firm and Arthur was so very there. He thought about last night and every other fight the younger man had ever had and realized that Arthur was one of the few people in the world he wasn’t afraid for. 

“...No Dutch. Not ever.” 

Arthur was safe.

And Dutch was opening his mouth up to the younger man’s throat, pressing an open kiss into it, feeling the strong pulse of blood just underneath the skin. 

Arthur was alive.

Arthur was alive. 

The younger man let out a breathy whimper. 

Dutch ran his hand up Arthur’s shirt, felt the hard dip of his hip bone, travelled up, through the hair of his navel to his chest. He was warm, and Dutch could feel his heartbeat, feel the rise and fall of his breathing. 

He sucked a bright red mark into the line of Arthur’s neck. 

“Dutch…” The sound came out in a moan. 

It was intoxicating, and he wanted more. Wanted to push the young man down into the sheets, tear his clothes off and see him, wild and lively, moving under him, panting his name into his ear, running his blunt fingernails down the older man’s back and leaving bright red marks on him. He wanted to burn the sight of Arthur over every bad memory, every painful moment, every traumatic experience he had ever had. 

And so he started to push, but then a hand came up, grabbed his wrist, and stopped him. 

“Dutch you’re drunk.” The voice was only a whisper. 

“I might be drunk but I’m not stupid.” He growled. 

“I can’t let you do somethin’ like this now, Dutch.”

“Why not.”

“Cause you’re drunk and you might regret it and I…” Arthur shook his head, peeled Dutch off of him. 

He might have been out of it, but he wasn’t far gone enough to think that pushing the younger man into doing something he didn’t want was in any way ok. 

“Fine. Alright. I’ll- I’ll head back.” Dutch stood up quickly, getting a head rush and swaying a little. Arthur rose to help steady him. 

“I’ll walk you back.” Dutch nodded, feeling shame shoot through him almost as hot as his desire. 

Arthur walked him out the door and into the hallway. They stopped in the threshold of Dutch’s room for a moment, and Dutch was looking at Arthur. Looking at his lips, at the bruise he had left on his throat. 

He thought about dragging Arthur into the room, pinning him up against the wall, biting over that same spot. 

And then Arthur was looking back at him and Dutch stopped thinking.

“Good night Dutch.” 

“Good night Arthur.” 

He went inside, locked the door, collapsed on his bed.

He was hot and hard between his legs, mind rushing with images of the younger man’s skin. Wondering what he would look like exposed, leaking, blushing, moaning. 

He wanted to get his teeth on him, get his cock in him. Fuck him into the mattress. 

The guilt that struck him wasn’t enough to deter him from flipping the buckle on his belt open and sliding a calloused hand down into his jeans. 

He wrapped a hand tight around himself and imagined that it was Arthur. He imagined that Arthur was on top of him, straddling his waist, bouncing up and down, blissed out on the older man’s cock. Dutch wanted to hear him say his name like that. Reverent and aroused. Like he was the only man in the world, like he was the only person that mattered. Dutch wanted Arthur to see him, and he wanted Arthur to love him. 

He pumped himself, biting into his knuckle to quiet his own gasps. He didn’t want Arthur to hear through the thin wall that separated their rooms, didn’t want him to know that the man he supposedly respected, the man that he looked up to, the man he had just rejected, was getting off to the thought of him not even 20 feet away.

Dutch came at last to the imagined image of Arthur’s cock, thick and swollen, spilling out onto his stomach. He came to the idea that maybe one day he would see it in person. 

Dutch was left panting. 

The afterglow didn’t last long, and very soon the soft, post-orgasmic bliss dove sharply down into guilt, and shame, and the deep inescapable fear that he had just fucked everything up, that years of friendship and trust had just been crushed with one clumsy drunken moment.

And Dutch, with his hand sticky with drying cum and the memory of a night he knew he would never be able to forget, could only replay the words “No, not ever.” over and over again in his head, the promise in them lulling him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)  
> My knowledge of poker is shoddy at best and I am sorry. Uncle kicked my ass so many times while I was doing research for this chapter. Sorry it's so short, but I felt like it was finished at the length that it was. I hope I didn't do Dutch a disservice in this chapter. It took longer than usual to come out not because I found it super hard but because my personal life has descended into utter chaos. Don't worry you can still expect about weekly updates, given things don't get any crazier.  
> Please say hi on tumblr @its-cowbabey  
> I love comments so much they motivate me.  
> Thanks for reading.


	4. Carrion Birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> -Murder  
> -Discussion of trauma  
> -ch 6 character background spoilers  
> -Depictions of severe illness (not on any main characters)

Arthur watched the door close behind Dutch. 

He had smelt everything on him, the alcohol, the cigar smoke, his cologne. He had been so close, closer than he had ever let another man get to him, outside of a fight. But the air was clean now, and the hallway was quiet, and he was alone. 

Arthur stood for a moment, looking at the door, wondering what would happen if he knocked on it, took back what he said and just fell into the older man. The thought scared him. It twisted something in his stomach, something halfway between fear and excitement.

He could still feel Dutch’s teeth on his neck and fingers on his hip. 

Arthur may not have considered himself the sharpest tool in the shed but he wasn’t a fool. He had recognized the way Dutch was treating him over the past few days, hell, over the past few months if he thought hard enough about it. But a line had been crossed tonight and there was no going back. 

It wasn’t that he was afraid of being with a man. Caring about who someone sleeps with was for people civilized enough to have any sort of qualms. Wrong or not, Arthur figured he was hell bound regardless.

But he was, in a way, afraid of Dutch. Afraid of losing him. Afraid of fucking up. Afraid the older man may one day look through him rather than at him. He figured that maybe change was too risky, it didn’t matter if he wanted it or not, he couldn’t chance destroying what he had with him. The man was his leader, his mentor, his friend, his family. 

He had known Dutch for well over a decade, and the thought of things being any different had him reeling. 

But the feeling of the older man next to him, that rough hand running up his bare stomach, the lips on his throat. It had his head swimming in a different kind of way.

At least he wasn’t dwelling on the events of the day anymore.

Back in his room Arthur sat down on his bed, and looked over at the journal on the nightstand, he thought about what Dutch had said about the drawing he had made. The man had been right. It didn’t fit with the rest. It didn’t look right, didn’t feel right. 

The journal had been given to him by Hosea. He called it “a fresh start”. And Arthur had needed it at the time, something new. It was starting over after losing Eliza and Isaac. It was the first thing to come into his life that hadn’t been touched by their deaths.

He had resolved to do right by Hosea, by them, and made an effort to draw what made him happy.

But the face of the man in the cave, it didn’t belong.  
Arthur tore the page out of the book, opened the window and set fire to the paper. 

As he watched it shrivel and balcken and crumble into ash he was hit with the passing feeling of guilt. He was probably the last person to see the man alive, and in all likelihood was one of the only people who remembered that this nameless, faceless man and ever been alive at all. And here he was, burning his likeness, letting it fall away. 

It would happen to everyone in the end. Dead alongside anyone who was ever there to remember them. 

Arthur tried not to let the dread hit him with this thought, so instead he laid down on the bed, after the drawing had been reduced to ash, floating down to the street, soon to be trampled into the dirt. 

He laid there, and in the time before sleep took him, he thought of Dutch. 

\---

The morning light was sobering. Not that Arthur had drunk the night before, but the swirling mass of thoughts from last night had settled into an uneasy hum by the time he woke up. 

As usual it was early and there wasn’t much for Arthur to do but wait around for Dutch to wake up. 

The young man got up out of bed, slipped his boots on, and made his way downstairs to the tavern. He spared the door of Dutch’s room a pensive glance on the way there. 

The coffee he was served at the tavern was just as bitter as he was used to, but it was smoother, no ground floating around the dark liquid, no burnt aftertaste. It was different, but he couldn’t exactly travel all the way back to camp just to have Hosea brew him a cup of something familiar. 

He sat in the tavern for some time and waited, kept an eye on the stairs, watching for the older man to come down. This morning was quieter than the last, the place seemed less busy, not that it had been crowded the day before. Arthur realized that this was because the waitress from the other day was gone. She hadn’t returned to work after what happened yesterday. He hopped she was just resting, or maybe she hadn’t been scheduled to work today. He didn’t want to think of the alternatives. 

It was a couple of hours before Arthur got tired of waiting, he had sat at the window trying to occupy himself by writing in his journal, but he couldn’t think of anything to say, or how to say it. Instead he steeled himself, figured he had so see Dutch eventually, might as well be now. He went up to the clerk and ordered another cup of coffee to bring to him. 

Arthur gripped the mug in his hands as he made to knock on the door. A thousand different thoughts and worries rushed through his head. How would Dutch react after what happened last night? Would he be hostile? Would it be awkward? 

Arthur brought his fist to the door before his anxiety got to him. 

He heard shuffling from inside, about a minute passed before Dutch opened the door only just enough to peak his head out. 

“Arthur...” The man looked and sounded rough, he wasn’t nearly as put together as usual. On top of it Dutch wasn’t looking at Arthur, instead he was looking at the fresh bruise on his neck. The younger man realized this and pulled his neckerchief up to conceal it. Dutch blinked. 

“I brought you some coffee.” The younger man extended the mug to him. 

“Oh. Thank you.” He took it cautiously into his hands, averting Arthur’s eyes, careful that their fingers didn’t touch. “Give me a moment, I’ll meet you downstairs soon.” His voice was stern and devoid of emotion. He ducked back inside. The door shut and Arthur went back to the tavern, trying not to dwell of the interaction. He hoped the stilted exchange wasn’t an indicator of the man’s mood. It didn’t feel right to see him like that.

When Dutch came down the stairs he was dressed immaculately, smile back on his face, walking with that familiar cocky swagger. It wasn’t the Dutch from minutes ago, it was the Dutch he knew, and the change was so sudden it gave him whiplash.

“Alright son! Let me tell you about what I learned last night.” He pulled up a chair to sit at the same table as Arthur, making a show of confidence the younger man wasn’t entirely sure he possessed anymore. It was even more unsettling than what he had seen a moment ago. “So I think I finally got somewhere last night. Those men were talking about a Dr. Byrne or somethin’, figured that’s the doctor that was out on business yesterday. Something is definitely up with him, he’s the reason the bastards are in town in the first place.” Dutch drummed his fingers on the table, full of manic energy, but still not meeting Arthur’s eyes. 

“You wanna go pay him a visit?” 

“That I do.” Dutch was fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket. He was looking at the table, then the window, then the floor. “We’re gonna go get you a check up, son. Tell him you ate some strange plant or something and I’ll get to chatting about business.” 

“So I’m supposed to act again.” Arthur’s unease was temporarily overridden by his exasperation. Dutch rolled his eyes.

“It really ain’t much, just stay quiet and look constipated.” Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. “See you’re doing it right now.” 

Arthur stood up and pushed his chair in harshly. “Fine. Let’s make this quick.” He should have known Dutch would act like this. So many years spent together, he had to at least know him well enough to tell when the older man was putting up a front. “Lead the way.” He gestured to the door. Dutch walked out without comment. Neither men were in a banter kind of mood. 

The walk down to the office was the uncomfortable kind of quiet. Arthur realized it was probably too much to hope for a mature conversation about what happened last night. He wanted Dutch to drop the act. Pretending like it didn’t happen was almost an insult, but maybe the older man really had come to regret it, like Arthur though he might. 

It could have just been the buzz of alcohol, the stress, and the loneliness. Maybe he had just thought of Arthur as a means to an end, a warm body. Maybe it wasn’t a feelings attached kind of thing. 

It made Arthur’s stomach drop to think that Dutch might regard him on the same level as a common whore. He tried to shake the thought from his head but instead he stewed over it, letting the feeling sharpen into an angry point. 

“This is it.” They had come to a stop in front of a small but well kept storefront, the sign read ‘Byrne and co. Medical Practices’ in meticulous curling font. From the hours listed on the door it appeared to be open. 

Arthur gave the place a once over. It seemed normal, but in a town where everything, even the people, were falling apart at the seams, it was too well kept. Like the Inn the doctor’s office was clearly getting business, which was more than could be said for many of the other supposedly essential services of the town. He remembered the abandoned sheriff's office he had seen riding in.

“After you.” Dutch said, holding the door open for the younger man in some sort of show. Arthur glared at him as he walked inside, not entirely sure if he was being mocked or not. 

The interior of the office was tidy. A couple of upholstered chairs sat in the corner. On one wall of the room was a door and a teller window. No one was sat at it but on the counter was a shining bell. 

“Go sit down Arthur, I’ve got this.” Arthur made his way to one of the chairs. He figured he should try to act sick, it was easy given his thoughts made him feel nauseous enough already. He was probably pale enough to pass for ill.

Dutch leaned on the counter casually and rang the bell. The sound was loud and clear. From somewhere in the back Arthur heard a voice. Flat and low.

“Just a moment.” 

Dutch tapped a polished shoe impatiently on the hardwood floor. Arthur picked at the dirt under his fingernails. 

A man came up to the teller window, Arthur couldn’t quite see him from where he was sat. 

“Doctor Byrne I presume.” Dutch extended a hand to the man but he didn’t take it. 

“Correct, and who might you be?” The voice didn’t sound friendly, it sounded hollow.

“Aiden Smith, I believe I met your colleague, Mr. Gernthal the other day.” 

“Oh yes… you’re that man.” Dr. Byrne paused for a moment, seeming to think. “I do hope those folks didn’t cause you too much trouble Mr… Smith.” Arthur remembered calling Dutch by his name in front of the assistant the other day and flinched. He hoped that no one else had made the connection. 

“It was no trouble at all.” 

“Well, what can I do for you today?” Byrne asked.

“I’m not here for myself today doctor, I’m here for my assistant, he seems to have taken ill recently and I’m afraid I just can't have that, there’s too much work that needs doing.”

“Lets see to him then, head through that door over there I’ll take you to the examination room.” Dutch turned to look at the younger man. 

“Come on Arthur.” 

He got up out of his chair, making sure that his neckerchief was extra tight around his throat. He didn’t want this stranger to see the mark and ask questions. 

Arthur followed Dutch through a door, down a narrow hallway, and into and examination room, the space was brightly lit by a series of windows, but it was far from a warm and welcoming place. 

“Have a seat.” The doctor came into view. He was a tall, pale wisp of a man, he looked half living and half dead. Like a corpse with cold, hard fingers, and teeth that were too clean. Arthur did not like him. 

It was hard to like doctors given that he had seldom seen them outside of the context of watching some poor stranger get a limb hacked off, but there was something about this doctor that transcended his usual distaste. 

He looked into the man’s cold, grey eyes and it was like looking into the eyes of a venomous snake. 

Arthur wanted to leave. He didn’t want to sit down. 

“Sir?” the doctor asked, noticing that he had gone still.

“I’m so sorry about him, Dr. Byrne.” Arthur felt Dutch’s hand at his back urging him down into the chair. “He a bit of an idiot.” 

Arthur was looking up at Dutch trying to tell him with his eyes that this man was bad news, that they shouldn’t be here. By the older man still wasn’t looking at him.

“Some assistant.” Dr. Byrne washed his hands in the sink and went to a cupboard to retrieve a variety of small metal instruments. 

“More like muscle. It’s a long and dangerous road travelling here from Sacramento.” Dutch lied. 

“I see...” 

“Speaking of assistants, where’s Mr. Gernthal, I meant to thank him for the other day.”

 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, he’s out making house calls right now.” The doctor leaned over to take a look at Arthur. “Open your mouth.” The young man did as instructed, and Dr. Byrne pressed a cold tongue depressor into his mouth. 

“I must say, I’ve heard some fantastic things about you.” Dutch continued.

“Oh really, from who?”

“Some gentlemen I’ve been playing cards with in town.” Byrne pressed a stethoscope into Arthur’s chest. “Say, I’ve been looking to invest some money Dr. Byrne, I was wondering if you were keen.” 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing here for you Mr. Smith.” He removed the instrument and wrapped it up.

“That wasn’t the case from what I’ve been told.” 

“If there was something wrong with him he’s over the worst of it.” The doctor spoke, and Arthur got the distinct feeling that he had seen straight through the both of them. “ I suggest you two get a move on, I’m sure you have better places to be than Killingly.” 

Arthur watched the two men stare each other down from across the room. He recognized then what they both were. Two con men, two distinct but equal predators circling each other in a stalemate. He didn’t want to stick around long enough to see what would happen when one of them decided to strike. 

Arthur stood up, and for the first time that day caught Dutch’s eyes. 

“I think you’re right, Dr. Byrne.” Dutch spoke up. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, but I really should be on my way now.” 

“Good day Mr. Smith, feel free to see yourself out.” 

The two outlaws made their way out of the office and onto the street. Once outside Dutch pulled Arthur aside and out of view, down a cramped alleyway between the medical practice and an old town house. 

“That doctor Dutch, he don’t feel right.” Arthur spoke in anticipation of what the older man was about to say. 

“Yeah I get what you mean. He sure isn’t a man of healing if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“What do you think he’s doin’? Did you hear anythin’ from those men last night.”

 

“I really don’t know Arthur, they weren’t exactly jumping at the bit to answer any of my questions, I can tell you that much.”

Arthur sighed. “What do we do then?”

“I want you to hang around here a little while longer, keep an eye on the office and take note of who goes in and out, see if you can find anything out.” 

Arthur nodded.

“I’m going to go see if I can track down some of the people I saw last night. I’ll meet you back at the inn later.”

“Ok.” 

Dutch went to leave, but before he could get out onto the street Arthur stopped him.

“Dutch?”

“Yes Arthur?”

“Is this even a job anymore?” The older man stopped. Looked at Arthur, the front from earlier had crumbled and it was just him, Dutch Van der Linde, as confused and alone in the world as anyone else. 

“... No I don’t think it is.” 

He was Dutch, the man that had saved him, and so many others. The man that stole from the rich and gave to the poor. The man that Arthur trusted to do right. 

He was Dutch, and Arthur would follow him to the ends of the earth. 

\---

It didn’t take Arthur long to learn that the doctor’s office had two entrances and that no one ever entered from the front. Maybe that was why Byrne hadn’t been waiting at the counter when they arrived. 

The back door wasn’t exactly hidden, but it looked more like it should access the upper rooms of the building rather than the main floor. It was on the side of the building that looked out into the woods, so it was easy for Arthur to conceal himself for a couple hours as he watched people go in and out. 

He first person he saw make a visit was a nervous looking and sore covered man. He entered through the back entrance and left looking somehow even paler. 

The second time someone came around he got the idea to try and watch them through the windows of the examination room. But the second patient, a sickly and poor looking elderly woman didn’t say or do much. She seemed more resigned than anything. 

Arthur watched through the window as Dr. Byrne took a blood sample from the woman and handed her a cup of something dark and oily that she was instructed to drink. He watched her choke it down, the doctor looked on silently, with a detached gaze that didn’t speak well to his bedside manor. 

It all seemed very routine at first, with the obvious exception of all the patients entering through the back. That was, until the third patient.

It was a couple, they were young, and while they were obviously poor, they weren’t the same kind of unhealthy everyone else in the town seemed. 

The woman was crying, grasping at the sleeves of the young man, trying her damnedest to drag him away from the clinic entrance. 

“Stewart! Stewart you can’t!” She was begging him, but he was stone faced. 

“Liz…” He said, looking down at her. She was trembling, her knuckles locked tight and white around the arm of her husband. “Liz I have to do this.”

“No! No you don’t have to do this! You know what’s going to happen!” 

“We don’t really have a choice.”

“Of course we have a choice you damn fool! We don’t need their money! I can do more! I’ll work nights! I’ll-” 

“At what job Liz? Ain’t nobody around here got money to hire folk.” Liz sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I do this or we starve. In the end it’s just a matter of what gets us sooner… that’s how it’s gotta be…” Liz was quiet, looking down at her hole filled shoes. 

“We can find somethin’… Do anything but this…”

“What can we do then Liz? Tell me.”

But she didn’t have an answer. 

Stewart pried the young woman’s arms off him and entered through the back door. Liz stood there, in the mud slick grass behind the building, holding her tears back. 

Arthur snuck around the side of the office to watch again through the window. 

He couldn’t hear the words exchanged between the young man and the doctor, but Byrne seemed pleased and Stewart looked deathly afraid, loose limbed and flushed of all color, like his soul had left him. 

The doctor prepped a syringe. The needle glinted deadly in the light and Arthur new that whatever the boy was about to be injected with, it would one day kill him. 

Byrne smiled, slid the syringe into his arm, and pressed the plunger. To him it was routine, another day, another injection, another life ruined, trampled under the hooves of whatever agenda he served. 

The young man looked like a ghost when after a stack of clean dollar bills was pressed into his shaking hands.

He left the building, he floated more than he walked out, and was greeted by the sight of his already grieving wife.

“I don’t want to bury you.” She was sobbing and grabbing at him again. “I don’t want to bury you.” Stewart stood there, unmoving, numb, his mind had left him, and only his body remained. “I don’t want to bury you.” She pleaded. But he was a dead man walking. 

Arthur had seen enough. 

\---

Arthur left the building and headed back to the tavern. On the walk back he couldn’t help but notice that so many of the people he passed on the street had sores. They were worse on some people than others. Several of the worst off had layer of them, small and red, covering almost every visible inch of their body. Mostly they clustered around the face and hands but Arthur saw one man whose entire neck had been reduced to a bloody mass.

They were sick. The entire town. Sick with something that was rotting them all away, piece by piece.

There were a few people who were free of the sore’s but they were obviously the kind of folk that were better off. Shopkeepers, visitors, trappers, anyone with money could be identified by their clear skin. 

This wasn’t a problem for just a few people in Killingly, everyone in the town was either plagued by sickness or a witness to it. 

Arthur wondered why. How did this happen and for what reason? What was everyone infected with? Was this solely Byrne’s doing? 

Arthur collapsed at the tavern bar. It was late in the afternoon and still too early for the majority of the drinking crowd, but that didn’t stop him from ordering a gin to steady his nerves. 

He figured Dutch would be by soon, but he couldn’t quite figure out what to tell him, or how to relay what he saw. He wanted to be sure first, wanted more answers. He needed someone to tell him point blank exactly what was going on. 

Arthur remembered the waitress and her husband from yesterday. He thought about going back to their rundown shack. Maybe they would be more willing to tell him about the doctor and their illness if he told them what he saw. Maybe if that didn’t work bribery would. 

He nursed his drink for a little while before Dutch came in and took a seat next to him. The older man ordered his own drink. Arthur was relieved to see that he wasn’t too eager to finish the entire thing. While the heavy air from earlier had lifted, he still wasn’t ready to see Dutch drunk again. 

“I couldn’t find any of those bastards around town. Suppose they wouldn’t be slumming it in a place like this if they can help it.” He swirled the liquid around in his cup. “They’re probably staying a couple towns over, or hell, maybe they’ve already left.” He turned to address Arthur “How’d you make out at the office?” 

“I… I saw some stuff Dutch, I…” Arthur leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “That doctor he’s doin’ somethin’ to the people here. Payin’ off poor folk and injecting them with somethin’, everyone in town… they’re all sick.”

“Jesus Christ.” Dutch muttered. 

“I want to check up with the couple from yesterday, see if I can get anything out of em’.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea, Arthur.” 

“I dunno what Byrne has got to gain from it all. Maybe its money, maybe it’s some kinda sick pleasure. Whatever it is I can’t decide what’s worse…” Arthur emptied his glass and left a tip on the counter.

“You headed out now?”

“Yeah, reckon I’d better get going while there’s still daylight.” He stood up and stretched. 

“You want my help?”

“Nah, I’ll be back in a couple hours.” Arthur felt the weight of his revolver on his hip. “I can handle myself.” 

“I know you can.” Dutch smiled at him. It warmed Arthur a little, seeing him smile at him, like Arthur was a man worthy of his attention. 

He left the tavern. Reinvigorated, eager to get to the bottom of it all. Eager to please Dutch with what he found. Dutch was right, this wasn’t a job anymore, they weren’t doing it for the money, the people in this town were hurting and maybe what they were doing would help them. Maybe they could do something right by folk for once. Instead if just hurting them 

Maybe he was the right person for the job after all. 

\---

The sun had begun setting by the time Arthur made his way to the Harlow residence. The chill of night was creeping in on him and the streets were empty and deathly quiet, save for the sound of cicadas and Boadicea’s hooves on the dirt. 

Above him, in the fire orange sky, a carrion bird circled. 

He remembered the route to Haygen street from the other day, and it wasn’t long before he recognized the area around the couple’s house. 

He hitched Boadicea to a rotting fence post on the edge of the property and made his way over to the house. He planned to knock on their door, greet the couple with a polite question, ask how the young woman was doing after the incident in the tavern the other day. But he didn’t make it more than a few steps farther, before he noticed. 

The Harlow’s were not there.

In their place were two fresh graves.

 

He was standing there in the mud, with the evening air, wet and heavy in his lungs. 

But he wasn’t really. 

He was back, a year ago, in the red New Austin dirt, midday, with the sun beating down on him, looking out on two very different graves.

He remembered the anger, and the sadness, and the disbelief. 

And all he could think about, all he could ask, was why.

Why had they been killed, for what reason? For what ends? For how much money?

 

What was the price tag on these people’s lives? Was it 10$? Was it more? Was it less?

Arthur didn’t think it would ever happen again. Didn’t think it was possible to lose Isaac and Eliza for a second time. But there he was, scars opened and weeping, a bloody, murderous rage boiling in him, same as it had the first time.

And then he smelt it; cigarette smoke, wafting through the air. Arthur was following the scent before he could register it. Whoever had lit it, they were nearby, and they were responsible. 

Arthur saw him, after he rounded the house. Mr. Gernthal, the doctor’s assistant, hands trembling and clothes covered in loose dirt, lighting a tobacco roll.

Arthur didn’t think twice about pulling his gun out and shooting him through the leg.

The shot rang out and the frail man collapsed to the ground with a scream of pain. And he wouldn’t stop screaming, not when Arthur stalked over to him, not when the larger man swung the metal toe of his shoe down onto his face. Not when Arthur gripped him by his greasy, greying hair and choked him on the mud and the slick red pool of his own blood.

“Tell me!” Arthur was yelling but he wasn’t in control, he wasn’t choosing what to say. His words, his actions, they were his, but they also belonged to his grief.“Tell me what you did!” He jerked Mr. Gernthal’s head up out of the muck and he coughed up black slime onto Arthur’s boots. He was crying. 

“I-I-”

“Spit it out!” Arthur kicked the man in the chest and he wheezed as the breath left his lungs. He gasped and writhed in the mud, Arthur let go of him and brought his cattleman to rest on Mr. Gernthal’s forehead. 

“They just, died, they- I- I didn’t kill them mister, they died-”

“Like hell I’m gonna believe that shit! I’ve seen what Dr. Byrne does, the people in this town, you’re making them sick aren’t you!” Arthur pressed the barrel of the gun even harder into him. “Aren’t you!”

“Y-y-yes- yes” His breath hitched, there were tears cutting trails through the grime on his face. “We are- we- we are…” He sounded ashamed. 

“Why?” He grit his teeth on the question. 

“It’s… It’s syphilis.” The man was shaking uncontrollably. “I-I-I-I I just-t wanted to help people- I-”

“It sure as hell don’t look like you’re helpin’ folk!”

“Dr. Byrne, he-he wanted to t-try and cure it, thought that-that we needed people, people to test the drugs…” Gernthal was looking down at this hands. “But there weren’t enough folk sick with it, and even less people willing to submit to trials.. So-so we came here…” He took a breath. “The people here, in this town, they’re poor folk, they don’t got much, so-so we pay them, and we infect them and… and…” Arthur cocked the hammer on his revolver. “T-T-There’s people, rich folk, we got investors, interested in a cure. They-they give us money, f-for the the research...” 

“How many people have died for this. Mr. Gernthal?” 

He didn’t answer.

“How many!”

“I-I-I don’t know, a couple dozen, I-”

“What made their lives worth less than anyone else’s! Huh? Who made you god!”

“T-they were willing-”

“Like hell they were! It’s hardly willing when it’s the only choice you’ve got!”

He went quiet. 

“But do you know what was a choice, Mr. Gernthal? Every time you chose to stick that needle into some poor bastards arm. Every time you did it, every time Dr. Byrne did it, you knew, you knew they were dead, and you chose to do it.” 

“It-it was for the greater good, later on- later on people are gonna be saved by what we’re doing here. E-even if it’s ugly, even if it’s wrong…”

“Oh shut the hell up, there ain’t no excuse for what you’re doin’ here, don’t you dare try that shit with me.” 

Mr. Gernthal was on his knees, looking up at Arthur, pathetic. The gun gleamed red with the reflection of the setting sun. 

“I-If you shot me now, what does that make you?” He pleaded. “Do you really think murdering a man like this is somehow right? You’d be no better than me, y-you’d be worse, just a cold blooded killer.”

“Oh Mr. Gernthal, I know I’m a bad man. I kill people, sure, but at least I’m not foolin’ myself thinking it’s all ‘for the greater good’ or whatever kinda bullshit you’ve been spewin’.” Arthur knows, he knows he’s a hypocrite, he knows that shooting this weak, defenseless, sniveling little creature is not the act of a good man. There are alternatives. He could beat the man so bloody he’d never stand again, let alone work. But he doesn’t. 

“I know what I am.” Arthur tells him.

He knows it’s wrong. 

 

And he shoots him anyways. 

\---

Arthur stood. 

He lost track of time, standing there, over the body, watching the blood cool. Letting himself unravel quietly. He stood there, and the sun set, and the mud and viscera dried into his clothes and his skin.

He was trapped there, thinking about Eliza, and Isaac, and the Harlows. 

They were alive once. But now they were dead. And the only evidence that they had ever been breathing were two graves and Arthur’s memories. 

Who was there to be angry but him. Who was there to rage, and grieve, and honor them but him. So many people died and left so little behind, so many people died and it was almost like they never existed. 

Arthur hoped than when he died, he would have at least pissed off enough people to warrant a celebration. Anything was better than what Eliza, and Isaac had suffered. A life of misfortune, and a quiet, inconsequential death. They deserved better than that. They deserved more than just Arthur’s grief. 

But the world didn’t work like that, and some people weren’t quite as dead as others. The same way some weren’t quite as alive.

Arthur stood, alone.

Until he wasn’t.

He didn’t hear the footsteps, or the Count trotting down the road, but he did here Dutch call to him. 

“Arthur?” He yelled, and the young man was shaken a little from his trance. “Oh shit.” Dutch saw him, by the corpse, his gun was not exactly smoking anymore, but it was obvious what had gone down. “Holy hell what happened? Is-is that Mr. Gernthal?”

Arthur nodded. Dutch saw the expression on his face, saw the graves out front. 

“Oh. Oh…” It must have reminded him, of the day Arthur came into camp bereaved, a piece of him lost in a way that would make sure he was never quite the same again. Dutch recognized it on his face. “Arthur...” He put a hand to the younger man’s shoulder, the other went to Arthur’s hand, still wrapped tight around his gun, and guided it into his holster. “Let’s get this taken care of.” Dutch lead him a little ways into the woods, and made him sit down on a fallen tree.

He watched detached as Dutch dragged the body of Mr. Gernthal off somewhere, probably to a shallow grave and got to tidying up the scene of the crime. 

They were quiet as he worked. Dutch asked no questions, he didn’t need to. 

“Alright.” The older man said, looking down at Arthur after he had finished. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Instead of forcing him up this time Dutch offered him his hand. 

Arthur nodded and took it. They walked slowly, numbly, deeper into the woods to where they could hear the sound of running water 

And then he was doing it again, like the other night, wading into the river, only there were no monsters this time. Just cool, clear water, and Dutch. 

He felt the older man’s hand on him, washing away the blood and the mud. There were hands on his hands, hands on his hair, hands on his arms, and chest, and sides. 

“Dutch I-” He tried to speak, but the words got caught in his throat and he was no longer sure what he was trying to say. 

“It’s ok Arthur. I understand.” And he did, in that cold, dark water, standing eye to eye. Arthur felt like maybe Dutch was the only person in the world who really understood, who had taken the time to know him well enough and care deep enough. 

In the river they weren’t Dutch Van der Linde and Arthur Morgan. They were two men with missing pieces and the space between them was a mirror that reflected twin images of loss. 

And so, like two powerful waves colliding, they swallowed each other. Pushed their lips together hard enough, held their bodies together tight enough, so that united, they could try to drown their grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very hard to write.  
> I recommend the songs Heaven’s Gate by Dawn Landes, and You’re Dead by Norma Tanega to y'all this week. Also this article https://truewestmagazine.com/old-west-homosexuality-homos-on-the-range/ I’m using it to inform how I approach the topic of homosexuality in this fic.  
> You can probably guess what the next chapter will be. (Very emotional porn)  
> Tumblr is @its_cowbabey  
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments you’ve left on my work so far, I get very excited every time I see a new one!


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